


Emerald Eyes

by when_we_met



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: ..well see, Brown Eyes, Character Study, M/M, Maybe slight smut, Migs Mayfeld is Bill Burr, Nicknames, Roomates, Sharing a Bed, Soft Din Djarin, Touch-Starved Din Djarin, both are slightly annoyed, cara mentioned, injured Migs, mugged, quiet Mando, soft spot for mando
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:41:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28676115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/when_we_met/pseuds/when_we_met
Summary: It's no surprise that Mando found Mayfeld, the least he could have done was warn him or send a letter. The two start off in a normal acquaintance leading up to a friendship that leaves them both smiling.Mayfeld likes teasing. Mando's trying his hardest.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Migs Mayfeld
Comments: 6
Kudos: 65





	1. Captivated in the moment

**Author's Note:**

> My writing skills will never reach some of you writers. thanks for reading.

During the weekend, people tended to be overcrowding, which isn't a problem as long as it doesn't involve any trouble. During the weekend, the whole planet seems to decide they will choose to eat at the same location. In the town, these parts tend to be overdramatic when they say this diner has the best-homecooked meal, which is an exaggeration because, in all honesty, it's alright. There's been better tasting food in packaged meals they provide for soldiers. But that's all really up for discussion.

______

The amount of chatter abrupts any thought someone could have possibly had, creatures and people yelling at each other from across the table and servers addressing tables and meals being distributed. The whole area stenches of bacon and eggs as the smoke from the pots and pans drift in the wide open, letting everyone get a whiff of what they are getting for breakfast. The sounds of metal clashing against metal under an open flame as the scrambled eggs and bacon sizzle and pop, pancakes being tossed around until they cook into a soft brown.

Migs found himself admiring the color once, that was until the woman sitting down saves him time by giving him a load of a tip for his hospitality. He beams with excitement with that tiny feeling long forgotten.

"Wanda, you sweet hoot, I'm thanking you right now because as of now, your literally the greatest person on this planet," Mayfeld walks backward with his signature grin to then clap his hands together and bow his head.  
\ "This tip," he shakes the well-earned cash in the air providing the opportunity for others to see his payoff, "This might be the money that could initially save my ass. You have a great day today."

This is a big deal because, as of right now, money is the most significant thing to Mayfeld, dealing with a hell of a lot of crap will never slow him down. Mayfeld is a charmer, he may not have the most incredible looks, but he can do anything with the right words. That's his game its not gonna stop him from talking his way out of any problem. If there's one thing Mayfeld knows best is that he will never be held stunned, he always knows how to react in any situation.

"--MANDO," as he swung around, Mayfeld dove into an abrupt stop against the Mandalorians chest and stumbled backward, toppling over a nearby table, causing a disruption with the customers. As destructive as that appeared, the chatter proceeded, only receiving a few glances at the man dressed in all beskar.

Mayfeld lifts himself off the table with his elbows and strides to the Mandalorian, leaning near the helmet where his ears were probably located. "What the hell," Mayfeld grits. His skin bleeds with embarrassment.

He backs off and rubs the throb lingering in the side of his waist," What a way to meet. Geez.", he retorts feeling utterly humiliated.

With quick inspection Mayfeld observes that the Mandalorian seemed relatively quiet, well more than he usually is, it was so strange that Mayfeld almost felt some sort of concern. That was until the memories from seconds ago came flooding back in," What's goin' on Mando? - and make it fast my boss could notice in any second and will blast on me for not working".

Finally meeting the Mandalorian for his third time did not shoot any sparks given it had appeared a trail of drama followed the Mandalorian wherever he journeyed.  
"i-" before managing to form even a single letter a burst of fury roared at the top of their lungs wondering why his meals are not being properly distributed.

"Migs, you piece of rotten baloney, what makes you think standing there like a pretty boy is going to make you any cash! Stop yapping and start serving before I mark you up for the second time", Mayfeld rolls his eyes and heaves a thunderous groan. This was not a good time for mayfeld to be standing around with the Mandalorian, especially with his soft voice.

"Uh- I need a place. I was hoping you would invite me to your home," Mayfelds shoulders hunched forward and cackles. \\\\\

Was that it?  
"Was that all" he grins," Well why didn't you say so, Mando. Kriff. Your gonna have to hold on". Mayfeld grabs the Mandalorian by his arm and takes a deep breath.

"HEYY!!! I'm taking a FIVE-minute break, I'm not-  
I'M not even gonna ask permission to go for it cause I'm leaving already. So don't try to stop me because I'm going." before the boss realized, Mayfeld slipped away, dragging the Mandalorian through the kitchen into an empty hallway. Boxes of food ingredients laid aside, leading to an exit.

Mayfelds hand still lingered tightly on the Mandalorians arm, body neighboring close, "Okay don't know how much time that bought us but it's enough ." Mando can feel the increasing pressure that clutches around his suited arm.

"You're welcomed to head to my home, alrite," he drops his hand to his side, leaving Mando with a sudden emotion that cannot be described. Only to be spontaneously erupted by Mayfeld reaching down to snatch Mando's right hand with his left. Mandolorian stiffens up.

"Cool off man, I'm gonna write the directions on your hand. ", it was the type of situation that could have been verbal, but Mayfeld decided it is best to write it down.

\\\\\As if reading his mind, Mayfeld glances up, locking eyes with the Mando through his helmet, leaving the Mandalorian feeling caught,  
"Look, I just don't want you to forget, okay."

Mayfeld offered no warning as he yanks off the glove, sputtering curses over the stupid job and stupid boss, all while stuffing the glove in his pocket without realizing.

"Just need a writing utensil. Do people even say that, is that a thing, do people say writing utensil", Mando hesitates to speak, "-You know what doesn't matter, I'm not gonna let you answer that anyway. It's a stupid question."  
He skims around for any lost pen until he caught Mando glancing at his head. Mayfeld grinned wildly and snatched the pen from his ear, he totally forgot. Mayfeld's left hand had remained clutch on to Mando's, attempting to keep it still to scribble his address. He plops his writing hand on top of Mando's as if he were some piece of paper.  
It resumes in silence as Mayfeld jots down the address in Mando palm.

This constant grabbing was making Mando choke on his words, he would have been more comfortable with this if it were someone like Cara or even Greef, but Mayfeld.

The same guy that only changed to a new man just recently.

"ow," Mando lets out a soft yelp as he's startled back to reality after Mayfeld jabbed a single dot as an implication of finishing. Mayfeld finally looks over at the Mandalorian, whose been staring at him for the entirety of the moment.  
"alrite, this is my home" his left hand dropped to the side, but his writing hand still remained intact with Mando's. His four fingers fondle over from being in the front to grabbing from the back never once letting go of his hold.  
Seeming to be a constant attribute of his, to never let go.

"Now there may be a lock, nothing fancy, just a regular ol' lock, which naturally with your skills will be no issue. Okay- Just consider thinking about me when you get that urge to break my door in half. Cause if you do Mando, dear, it will be coming straight out of your pocket", his eyes scan over at the Mandalorians gear, "Or bag -just, you know what I mean."

He folds Mandos fingers over the written address and gives him a reassuring pat, "Oh. And please. Make yourself at home, you saved my ass more than I can count, the least I can do is treat you as my house guest. You can shower and even fix yourself something nice. Uhm -well try. I don't got much, but I promise I'll buy some food on my way home for tomorrow."  
In the distance, an unbearable holler coming from the kitchen leaves both of them, without admitting, a bit startled.  
Mayfeld lets out an unfiltered groan and screams back.

However, Mando's not really picking up what they are shouting about, he's too fixated on Mayfeld's fingers wrapped around his.

"Hey! Earth to Mando. I said bye. I'll see you after my shift is done. I'm working a full day so don't expect me to come back early saying Hi honey, I'm home" Mando nods, earning a grin from Mayfeld. He lets go of his hand and reaches to pat his back with reassurance and a smile. Soon slipping off back into the kitchen, hollering, leaving Mando with his hand left in midair and empty.

What the hell.


	2. Uninvited Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Migs and Mando don't seem to get along all the time but they're trying to head in the right direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took so long sorry, here's my new post.  
> Again, not the best writer but I love these guys.

The Mandalorian stares at his bare palm once more before facing a small building. Yeah, this seems to be the right address, all thanks to Migs unnecessary act of helping. To keep his body pumped with excessive adrenaline, bending down, Mandalorian faces the lock. Migs said he only has one key and would rather keep it. Telling him, he doesn't want to come home to find the Mandalorian is nowhere to be seen, forced to drift in the cold.  
The Mandalorian grappled a small tool and unhatched it in mere seconds. At least, Migs was honest about the lock being easy to handle, the Mandalorian's relief turned to concern.  
Anyone with the right tools could open his door.  
But working at some diner won't help him survive and receive the money for a better lock.

He slowly opens the door entering into a barely decorated home, mostly containing the large furniture. Which isn't much of a surprise, the kitchen is the first thing he spots to the left. And in front of the open kitchen laid a small living room with one couch and a cocktail table. There was a stand with a lamp next to the sofa. On the right of the living room is a short hallway that leads to three doors. The first door to the left seemed to be a used bedroom, by the looks of the knob. Mando decided not to look in for Migs privacy. In the middle was a bathroom with a sink, toilet, bathtub and showerhead, and other essential items. He resumes back outside and opens the remaining door, inside a small room laid with a nicely made bed, nightstand including a lamp, plus a nearby drawer. He drops his bag on the bed and places his helmet on the stand before plopping on the mattress.  
He sighs.  
The home was nearly decorated but, for the most part, was nice. One of the things he expected was a mess, but it seems that Migs is well put together.  
So well put together, it was almost comical. 

Mando rubs his face with the gloved hand and scoffs at the mere thought of Migs pulling him around like a child. Then he stops and lifts his bare hand in front of him to see the writing still intact. Barely any smudges.  
It is a really good pen.  
Or maybe Mando is deliberately trying not to smudge it.

He touches the writing, thinking about Migs face when they first saw each other. Migs was so shocked that he literally fell in front of everyone, yet all Mandalorian can remember is how reversed he was compared to before. That usually doesn't happen, but it was far too loud to place any proper thoughts. Mandolorian had no time to process the touching.  
Ugh, the touching.  
Something the Mandalorian did not get after he was rescued by the Mandalore's. And something he was not currently used to. The pale man had stolen the Mandalorian's awareness.  
Migs eyes wrinkle when he smiles, he also has a foul mouth, but that's not new.

The Mandalorian lays on the bed until his belly rumbled, that's right, he hasn't eaten since yesterday.  
Let's see what this place has to offer, not that the Mandalorian is complaining, but some fruit and nuts would be enough.  
Mandalorian rises up from the bed and heads to the Conservator to find some expired blue milk and a bowl of colorless soup, protein bars, and some decaying fruit.  
Well, so much for the fruit idea.

Thinking about it more, Migs did seem a bit thinner than before. He reaches through cabinets to discover more boxes of protein bars and military bagged meals.

Mando's not the one to complain, but he would prefer to pay for a decent meal than eat the food left here.  
Mandolorian walks back to the guest room to retrieve his helmet and a small over-the-shoulder bag to obtain some cash for the road.  
He makes sure the door is locked with his tool and heads to the diner once more.

/////  
"Hey, welcome," Migs says halfheartedly, skimming over some numbers making sure they are all correct, "How can I assist you, eating here or picking up to go?"  
He glances upwards with a fake smile, and it slowly falters when he faces the Mandorlian again.  
"oh jee- zus not you again! What are you doin' back here, Mando? I said go home, you can literally take your helmet off in peace."

"There wasn't any good food. I thought I'd stop by and order in", Mando replies.  
"Order in, order in," Migs echoes, "you mean order out Mando! Order out!"  
"Migs, I hope you're working well with your customers," the same boss shouts from the kitchen. Other employees snickered and pointed at Migs, 'Oh up yours' Migs grits, waving the younger servers off.  
"Okay Mando your right, not enough food in the fridge to feed all that muscle," Migs shakes his head in agreement.  
"Or maybe not much. You have nothing in the fridge, Migs", Mando responds.  
"Mayfeld-," Migs corrects.  
"Mayfeld," Mando echoes.  
"No, your right thou I'll buy us groceries. Just please go away," Migs attempts to pull Mando to the nearest exit.

"What are you doing," he huffs when Mando didn't budge.  
"I want to stay."  
"You are the Mandalorian, you should be resting for kriffs sake," he mumbles.  
"I want to stay," Mando repeats.  
Migs rubs his forehead and points ahead, "Okay just sit over there."  
Mando feels that he gave in too quickly, and there had to be a reason as to why.  
"This isn't where you serve, is it."  
Migs eyes widen as a confirmation of his theory. "Dank Farrik, what are you a fucking detective? I mean- yes. It isn't, but come on Mando it's not like I have to serve you or anything. Would you just sit? Look the servers are friendly as heck she'll attend to all your needs".  
Mandalorian stops following.  
"Mando come on, you're makin' things more difficult for the both of us," he glances at the kitchen to see any wondering eyes.  
Mando reflects and tilts his head forward, "no- You are."

Migs stills, with an expression, that the Mandalorian could not understand.  
"Alright," he whispers. His head tilts somewhat down in defeat, which promptly vanishes instantly.  
There might have been a real issue behind all that. Migs quietly leads Mando to a different table.  
"Here you are."  
"Thank you."

Mando sits down, settles his bag beside him, and rubs his hands together only to remember the writing he has been so careful not to mess around with. He admires the writing on his bare palm with his gloved thumb, tracing each letter that leads him straight to Migs home, literally.  
The way the ink had leaked through his creases, the pale hand directing his every move sent him goosebumps. Or when he, when he-  
Migs comes back with the menu and tableware. "So what's a guy like you interested in eating, estimating how low your options are since you wear a damn helmet."  
He pauses and leans his body near the table, "You know you can go home, right."  
Mando nods.  
Migs rolls his eyes. Once again. Defeated.  
"I'll just have the special," Mando says once, looking over at the menu, the words were so small he could only read the large letters that said For Todays Meal. He wasn't going to tell Migs, or he would have probably laughed.  
Migs nods as he jots it down, "Any drink."  
"Waters fine," Mando hands him the menu, "thanks."  
Migs gives him a fake smile, "My pleasure."

After a few, Migs comes back to catch Mandolorian examing his hand. "Hey Mando, here's your meal dig in. If you can," Migs taunts.  
"Is that a threat," Mando cocks his helmet to the side. Migs could envision the smirk on the masked man.  
Migs giggles, "no. Mando uhm- you've been messing with your hand a lot, and I think I know why".  
Mandalorian takes the plate from the lending hand in silence, listening.  
"You're used to wearing gloves, didn't mean to take one away from you, man. I totally forgot I had them", Mayfeld reaches into his white waistline apron and drops Mando glove back on the table.  
Mando nods, "thank you."  
Migs face softens, "Listen Mando, I've might've been a bit harsh. Out here trying to work on my issues, I should have never directed them at you. I was frustrated to see you here when you could have enjoyed eating to your leisure back in my place. But you didn't even have food back at my place so it was my fault, and i- I apologize."  
Mando nods his head.  
Migs knocks his head back and sighs he usually doesn't give apologies, "Okay then, if you need anything just call me."  
"Wait, Mayfeld," Migs turns, "I forgive you."  
Migs is stunned for an instant till he chuckles," your one-in-a-million, Mando."

Mando muses on what that meant and why it was so lovely to hear, but now is not the time for thinking now is the time for food. That's something his stomach could agree with.  
He lifts his helmet from the left so there could be a smaller chance of being detected, taking a full bite of the blue pancakes.  
He hasn't enjoyed something sweet in a while, it wouldn't be so bad if weren't for the overpowering quantity of sugar.  
He wonders if Migs could cook something sweet for him back home-  
Home where Migs would probably wear that silly apron of his, maybe have some powder sugar rubbed on his cheek with those smiling wrinkled eyes. That would be so-  
Bite by bite, Mando's plate was almost licked clean as Migs strolls back to him in shock.

"Woah, didn't I just serve you big guy, whatever- uhm, I forgot to give the extra bowl of chopped fruits that go with your meal, you still want them," Migs hesitates.  
Mando snatches it up with his still bare hand, fingers brushing over Migs, "yes."  
Migs notices that Mando still hasn't put his give back on, Migs assumed Mando didn't like feeling bare; maybe it was something else in his mind.  
In fact, it almost seems to be in the same place Migs left it. He couldn't really interpret it due to new coming orders demanding to be attended.  
One hour turns to three, and Mando still remains in the same seat, just sitting. Mandalorian ends up ordering again because he got hungry.

The clock struck 4, and it was finally time for Migs to head out whether he liked to or not. Other employees need money just as much as him. Migs pulls off his apron from his waist and waves his work pals later. The door jingles' chime as Migs steps out in his large coat that kept his skin safe from the radiation of the sun.  
Mando is waiting outside, looking dazed and unfocused, a slimmer of gratitude slipped into Migs heart. He enjoyed a bit of company. Migs pursed his lips and walked over to Mando.  
"Come on Mando, let's go buy you some real food," Mandalorian slowly turns to him and nods. Migs places the clothed mask over his mouth, away from the sand, and they both stride to their destination.  
Nearly halfway, Migs quit chatting about the neighbors and the weirdos he's seen, with Mando only nodding. He so wanted to break the silence between them, but with Mando's pace being a jot slower as if ensuring him some form of protection, Migs was unable to talk again.  
Migs looks to his side, and returns face forward," You didn't have to stay, you know."  
"I know," Mando replies on beat.

====  
They enter a beautiful hall of framers selling fresh fruits and vegetables. "Let's grab the greens before we head to the meat market."  
"Welcome, how I can help you two today," the lady chirps, Migs nods.  
"Hi, do you so happen to know where the lady that sells ginger is at," Migs asks.  
"Oh, your gonna find her shop at the back for those ingredients," Migs thanks her and waves her off.  
"You do have a normal side to you," Migs whips around, bewildered.  
"Well yeah, don't get used to it," he barks, pulling his scarf down to show Mando he was smiling.  
Like he wanted to let him know he wasn't trying to be mean. He covers his smile back in the scarf.  
Migs seems to know his way around these parts, greeting everyone with enthusiasm and the way his cheek wrinkles when he smiles. Or the way he averted his eyes from Mando's direction when he was done as if embarrassed to show Mando his softer side.  
"How are the kids? They've been listening to you lately," he crackles, "teenagers will be teenagers." The woman bursts into tears and hands him carrots and tomatoes.

"How's your wife? She hasn't been contacting me? You've been doing something good lately", the farmer wheezes as he hands him potatoes and onions.

They walk up to the last post that sold ginger and other spices, and Migs rub his hands together.  
"geez, I was worried that you weren't here," he points at the entrance, "you're usually at the front."  
"Sorry about that, dear, people were a little faster than me today," she looks over at Mando and smiles, "so what can I do you for."  
"I'll say," he examines," let's see we want ginger. I just not sure how much I should buy". He looks over at Mando, "what do you think, Mando two or three."  
"Does it really matter?" Migs and the woman look at each other and laugh.  
"Seems like someone's not familiar with his herbs and spices," the woman assumes.  
Migs shakes his head, "He means well, he's not used to a proper home-cooked meal, that's all." She waves them off as they head to the meat market.

"Good morning boys. What kind of meat would you like?" Migs smiles and glances at the variety of raw red meat.  
"Mando, what kind of meat you into," Migs leans to his side and whispers.  
"It doesn't matter," Mando wants to go back to bed at this point. It can be frog meat for all he cared. His tiredness was finally reaching him, maybe he should have stayed home. He's not gonna let Migs know that.  
"I'll like two pounds of Endorian chicken and 2 nerf steaks", this food better be good, Mando thinks.  
He notices Migs has been a bit quieter once they entered the farmers market, he glances down at Migs flipping through his wallet that's nearly empty than before.  
"How much is it?" Mando perks up towards the butcher.  
The man smiles, "$40 bucks, son," Mando unzips his pouch on his chest and pulls at some galactic coins.  
"Have a great day," the man waves as the two walk out.

"Mando, you seriously didn't need to pay," Mandalorian's eyes wandered to Migs walking ahead of him, back turned, head slightly fallen.  
"So, you didn't stop me," Migs head lifts up.  
They carried on in silence with their share of bags when Migs slows down to talk, blabbering about the food market as if trying to distract Mando. But he still remembers the way Migs cringed every time he had to pay something expensive, eyes filled with exhaustion.

Migs unlocks the door, holding it the best he can while carrying the heavy bags, "Come on in house guest," Migs insists.  
He kicks the door shut and drops the bags on the counter, Mando had already left the bags on the counter.

"Shit, I'm starving," Mando sits down in one of the high chairs, examining some of the snacks he bought for himself his head whips up.  
He composes himself before speaking, "You mean, you haven't eaten anything all day."  
"I ask them for no breaks," Mando's brows bury although Migs would have no way of knowing, at that moment, he wished to show just how disappointed he was.  
"Little extra cash," Migs shrugs as he places the food away in the cabinets and table.  
"Little extra cash? Migs, you need a job", Mando firmly announces.  
"I have a job, asshat, this just so happens to be my weekend job. I'm going to my actual job tomorrow, where I deal with machinery, electricity and chemicals and shit." Mando was about to ask Migs why he needed two jobs-  
"I'm gonna shower. Don't got time for this", he waves Mando off, "-and don't ask me any more questions about my private life, it's none of your fucking business."  
He stomps off into his closed room and slams it behind him. A few minutes later, Migs comes out shirtless with a towel over his shoulder and clothes under his arm, still grumbling about who knows what.  
Mando sighs.  
So annoying.  
And pale.

''''''  
"I'm done," Migs slips out slightly dripping with water, still shirtless but replaced his dirty pants with clean sleeping joggers. And walks straight into his room, slamming the door behind him.

Mando drops the heavy beskar gear on the floor and leaves his helmet on the nightstand taking a towel with him. After a day of doing nothing, Mando freshens up in hot water, steaming against his skin. Mando found himself hesitant to wash off the address, wiping it ever so gently. He steps out with his under gear in one hand and the other gripping on the wrapped towel, tiptoeing back into the room.  
He glanced at Migs, still closed door.  
Then he shuts his own.  
I guess he's not coming out.

Mando puts on some joggers and a gray sweater.  
He hears the door open, it seems like Migs was giving him his privacy.  
Very considerate for a stubborn character. Migs might've helped the Mandalorian get some coordinates and was helpful, but he never got out of his obnoxious manner.  
By the sounds of it, Migs is finally eating.  
Mando's pushes his traveling bag away and neatly folds his gear close by. If an emergency occurs, Mando has to be prepared.  
He plops on the mattress and slips into the blanket. The only thing Mando can do is try to sleep.

\--------------

Man-

  
Mando-

"HEY! MANDO--," the Mandalorian bolts upwards in sweat.

"Hey, man. You were having a nightmare," Migs states.  
"What was your dream about? You kept yelling, help- stop- I was trying to rest and you nearly gave me a fucking heart attack," Mando rubs his eyes with his knuckles and realizes he's bare, head shoots up at Migs in despair.  
"Hey, relax it's nothing I haven't seen already," Migs attempts to hush Mando. Migs stared into Mando's eyes, making him feel vulnerable until Mando had no choice but to look down.  
Migs sits on the edge of the bed, hands gripping at the ends of the mattress.  
"You okay Brown eyes, need some company for the night? I know what you are going through. That feeling of loneliness and heartbreak, as much as we hate to admit it, sometimes we need someone. Sometimes you don't want hugs- sometimes you just want to cry, but you know, with a body around", Migs tries to smile, "I'm not into that cuddling shit if you're getting any ideas, but I'm willing to stay until you fall asleep."

"I'm okay," Mando responds.  
Migs gets up in relief, his neck tinted in a shade of pink. It must have been a bit off-putting for Migs to ask Mando if he would want a companion.  
"Well, if you need anything, just holler, but I mean- like really holler because I'm a heavy snorer, alrite," Migs turns and heads to the door with a yawn.

"wait-," Mando hesitates, "I never said no."

Migs takes his time to look at Mando, eyes wider, mouth pursed shut.  
"Mando you sweet talker, you almost got me to jump into your arms just now, you got me in some romance novel shit."  
Migs look elsewhere when he roams to the other side of the bed and sits.  
Both men sit side by side, their heads laid back on the wall in dreadful silence until Migs glances at Mando, their heads so near that it had seemed nearly like an act of close intimacy. Migs never got the chance to properly look at Mando's face, he obviously got a good look. Still, there were so many other emotions dealing with the Sargent that he didn't have time to process his face.  
"brown eyes, you ain't looking so well," he mutters.

Mando whips his head toward Migs, eyes drained with sleep.  
"May."  
Mayfeld stares with attentive eyes.  
"-feld, -Mayfeld not May."  
"I just don't think it's fair that I'm brown eyes," Mando concludes.  
Mayfeld chokes up in laughter, the soft creases near his eyes. Complementing his smiling eyes.  
"What about emerald eyes."  
Mayfeld laugh slowly comes to a stop, he shakes it off with a fake smile. Barely showing any sign of shock, if there was any.  
"Emerald eyes, don't you think that's a bit intimate," Migs huffs.  
The pale man glances away. Maybe he shouldn't have offered to stay.  
"-And anyway, that doesn't clarify why you're so red," Migs grunts.  
"I'm fine."

Migs hesitantly reaches for Mando's forehead in curiosity, he must have had a disturbing dream to get this sweaty.  
"Are you sure you're okay? Because you're warm as Farrik, and I'm either way too cold or your way too hot," his head jerks back, squinting.  
"Quit asking, just sleep," Migs brings his hands up in surrender.  
"Sorry Brownies, geez didn't mean to pull on your strings, was just concerned about your well-being, that's all."

Despite Mando's annoyed remark, his skin failed to follow his procedure and flushed deeper.

"-Hold on," Migs speculates, "Are you blushing?"  
Migs tries to hold his laughter seems like he did pull on some of Mando's strings. A sound of laughter slipped from his lips.  
"Sorry didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," Migs explains, Mando tries to shake the feeling away.  
"I guess I do have a tendency of making situations more complicated than what they are," Migs says, he isn't the type to apologize, but now he's been apologizing all day.

They both remain silent again.

"Wasn't blushing because of you," Mando attempts to clarify, but it is far too late to explain himself now.  
"Hey, why did you stay with me," Migs ponders.  
Mando sighs longingly, "I wanted you to have a safe passage."  
Migs observes Mando until he shy's off, "oh."  
"By the way, what was your dream about," Migs scoots until his head falls on the pillow, his eyes drift up at Mando, and his left arm behind his head for support.  
"Honestly, I would tell you if I could," Mando mumbles.

He clicks off on the light on the nightstand.  
He also lays down until the two men feel the ongoing tension reap through the silence. Feels weird, just two men laying side to side too close to almost touch but flinch the moment they do.  
"Okay, Mando, I can't do this, one of us has to be the big spoon," he concludes.  
"Excuse me," Mando blurts, brows knitted tight.  
"I'm just saying one of us has to turn around or at least both turn away, whatever's comfortable," Migs looks around mindlessly in the dark. Kitchen lights flickered softy and rayed towards the opened door and bounced on Mando's face, revealing a small outline of his face. Migs managed to twist his head and glance at Mando with his eyes and see his jaw grinding, contemplating.

"Let's just stay like this, go to sleep, May," Mando tries to close his eyes. Migs snarls at the nickname.

"I was just saying that so wouldn't have to look at your face since I so rudely barged in here without your consent, like I know your creed's been vandalized and shit, but that doesn't change how you personally feel about revealing your face."

"Is this your way of showing guilt? Do you feel bad for doing that to me, May?" Migs grunts at the nickname. Maybe Mando will consider using that name more often, it seems to trigger Migs.

"Shud u- Stop," Mando smiles at the way Migs stammers.  
"Honestly, I do prefer to continue using my helmet until I really figure myself out, but it's okay May. You came in to help me out, I'll let this pass for tonight."

"Mayfeld-!!", Migs hisses, "So what are saying Mando, this night is the only night I get to admire those pretty brown eyes of yours."

"Don't be like that, May," Migs japs a fist at Mando.  
Mando bursts in fits of laughter, under all that anger Migs, stares through the dim light, Mandalorian cracking at his own hoax. The happiness slowly drifts into a soft sigh of relief- of calmness.  
Migs awkwardly smiles in the dark lips pursed, and he flips over.  
"Good night Mando," he tries to fall into slumber in the absence of a blanket.

In minutes Migs snores, Mando lifts his blanket, throws half of it over Migs, and lays back down.  
"Good night," Mando whispers.


End file.
